Truths
by keru.m
Summary: Mac switches Mic's ring to her left hand. Harm is propelled to act. Things get messy. 2 parts.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Finally got this down on 'paper'

Personally, I hated the whole Mic-Renee thing: I thought it was contrived. This is one of those attempts to make lemonade out of lemons. But, I don't know, the story didn't turn out quite like I'd planned; however, short of scrapping the entire thing I can't think of what to do. Consider it a fair warning.

If some things fall out of the 'official' timeline, pretend they don't.

On with it...

--

**Truths**

--

**Acquainted with the Night**

I have been one acquainted with the night.  
I have walked out in rain --and back in rain.  
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.  
I have passed by the watchman on his beat  
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet  
When far away an interrupted cry  
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;  
And further still at an unearthly height  
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.  
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Robert Frost

--

Harm sat on his couch, head tilted back, and stared at the ceiling.

Today was it. The day he'd really thought would never come. She put the ring on her left hand. Mac was officially engaged. To Mic Brumby.

He really, sincerely thought the day would never come. What could she possibly see in him? Brumby was all kinds of wrong for her.

But the ring was now on her left hand. He'd seen it there, and something inside of him had snapped. No, not snapped: broken. Something inside of him had broken...

He shook his head briskly, chasing away the thought. What the hell was wrong with him. He'd told her on the ferry he couldn't let go, and that was true. He was definitely not ready for a commitment, not when his fingers still itched to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield, especially not to yield to a picket fence and all the responsibility that entailed. He knew that a relationship with Mac would be it for him. And he couldn't do it. Not then on the ferry, and not now, not yet. Being with Mac would mean getting married, settling down. Where else would it go? There was a finality to all of it that he just didn't want.

But seeing that ring on her finger, the wrong ring on the right finger ... No, he berated himself. He refused to feel any hurt over her decision. Her stupid, stupid, stupid decision. For god's sake, she couldn't marry Brumby. She'd be miserable, absolutely miserable. Bugme was arrogant and cocky and so full of himself. And he was pushy and overbearing. And relentless. He'd just smother her. Mac had one of those rare fiery personalities that needed space to breathe, one that had miraculously survived despite all of life's hard blows ... Brumby would just end up snuffing her out. She could never be truly happy with him. Once the euphoric blindness of rings and engagements and newlywed bliss faded she'd see that too, and she'd be miserable, absolutely miserable.

He was her friend, if nothing else – and there was a whole lot else, who were they trying to kid. Who was he trying to kid. But, he was her friend, her best friend. And as her best friend, it was his sworn duty to make sure she didn't make really, incredibly, ridiculously, stupendously stupid mistakes. Like marrying Brumby. That right there was the worst kind of mistake.

She was incredibly independent, and Brumby was controlling. And for all the squared-away cynicism she projected, Harm knew better than anyone that Mac needed someone who would let her be herself, even if she fought that very idea herself. Especially because she fought it. Brumby would never understand her or what she needed. He would never see in her what Harm had seen, had discovered, through years of friendship and partnership and adventure...

The thought gave Harm pause. He looked at his hands. All the years of friendship and adventure he'd shared with Mac. She understood him as well as he understood her. He knew what she needed, and she had to know the same about him. In fact, he knew that she knew. She had followed him to Russia, rather than tried to stop him. She'd offered to water his plants, rather than issued an ultimatum when he went back to flying. She had supported his decisions even when she didn't agree with him, and she always let him know when she didn't agree...

He thought of his parents, and of how happy they always looked in any memory or picture he had of them. He'd wanted that. He still wanted that. At some point. And he'd only met one person who gave him that feeling of happiness, that giddiness that made him smile even when he had no reason to, that comfort which put him at ease regardless of the situation. Only one person.

And she had just agreed to marry Mic freakin' Brumby.

Harm quickly sat up straight on the couch. The one person who made him think he could have what his parents had, the connection his parents had. And – oh, god, he was such a fool – and he'd even told her he always knew where she was. And he knew she always knew where he was, why else did she always just happen to search him out when he walked into the room or was looking in her direction?

Harm stood up, resolved.

She could not marry Mic Brumby. Marriage was a forever kind of thing, and she was his forever, dammit, not Brumby's.

He grabbed his keys and coat and marched out his front door.

She was not going to marry Brumby.

--

Harm knocked loudly on Mac's front door. Adrenaline coursed through him at an alarming rate. He'd made sure of it: He hadn't wanted to lose his resolve on the relatively long drive to Mac's place, so he sped the entire way and replayed the image of Mac kissing Brumby at the airport over and over and over. That had him pumped and primed.

Added to which, he was a trained fighter pilot: he thrived on adrenaline, it honed his senses. His forever was going to start now.

The door opened, and there stood Mac.

"Harm!" She exclaimed as she opened the door. "Is everything okay?

She tightened her robe as she stood aside to let him in. Her hair was slightly mussed, and the remnants of sleep still lined her eyes. He stood still for a moment, drinking in the sight of her in her nightwear. The sight shored his resolve to set things straight, the way they ought to be. Adrenaline went up a notch.

"I am giving you a choice." He declared, striding into her apartment. He turned to face her, one long finger pointed at her nose. He noticed that she was wearing a silk robe that reached mid-thigh. Her legs looked really smooth. He lost his train of thought.

"What?" She was looking at him, bewilderment clear on her features. She frowned. "Is this about the MacLean case?"

"The what?" He dropped his hand, thrown off by her question and how her legs shimmered in the muted living room light. She looked so soft. Where the hell was his adrenaline.

"It's a bit late to be plea bargaining, Harm." She put her hands on her hips, frown in place.

Her response registered, and his jaw dropped. His attention drifted from her legs to her words.

"What?" He exclaimed loudly, annoyed. "I'm not plea bargaining!"

"Harm!" She hissed, shooting a quick glance at her bedroom door. "Keep it down. You'll wake Mic up."

That stopped him cold. He eyed Mac's bedroom door with distaste. Bugme was in Mac's bed. He was torn between disgust and a jealousy so potent he had to clench his fists. Deep breath. Harm thought he was going to be sick.

"Mic's in there?" He couldn't look away from that damn door. He hadn't thought this plan out at all.

"Where else would he be?" she was clearly exasperated with him.

He scowled at her response. That did it. All he could see was red. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"He's all wrong for you, Mac. Either you take the ring off now or..." He faltered; he hadn't thought this plan through at all. Then the thought of Brumby in Mac's bed assailed him. And the words rushed out in a steady torrent. "Or I'll have no choice but to stand up at your wedding when the priest asks if anyone has reason to object. I won't hold my peace, Mac. I'll object, Mac, because it's the right thing to do." With his declaration of intent finally out, he ran out of steam.

Her jaw dropped, her eyebrows shot up.

They stood that way, in absolute silence, while time held its breath. Her expression was frozen in shock. As was his, if he really paused to give it thought. Had he really just said that? Ballsy. Hopefully not stupid. All he could hear was his heart hammering in his ears.

Their connection broke only when Mac's bedroom door clicked open. Harm turned to see Mic walk out.

"Sarah, love, is everything alright..." Mic said, clad only in sweatpants that he was still knotting up. He stopped short at the sight that greeted him.

"Harm." He eyed Harm cautiously, yet with a clear warning. "Everything okay?" He took a protective step in Mac's direction.

Mac looked at Harm in silent plea before turning her attention to Mic.

"Harm's here to discuss a plea on a case." Mac replied.

Brumby looked to Harm in amused confusion.

"C'mon, Harm. It's 1130 on a Thursday night. You shouldn't be working so late, mate." He put an arm around Mac, his hand coming to rest on her waist. The gesture was deliberate and casual, but in it Harm saw Brumby go from protective to possessive.

But it was the smug, wide, annoyingly happy smile on Brumby's face that was the last straw. Harm knew, somewhere deep down and rational, that Brumby always looked smug, and his smile was always annoying. But right now, all Harm could think was that Brumby was trying to intentionally gaud him. And what angered him most was that Bugme actually thought he had a right to act as though he deserved her.

"Actually," Harm forcibly tamed his anger, and directed his words at Mac. "Pleading my case is my top priority right now."

Mac's eyes widened slightly, her mouth fell open in disbelief. Brumby's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed with displeasure.

Harm looked straight at Mac, trying to tell her in a look what he couldn't say just yet, not yet.

"Harm..." She started, her voice soft and full of what Harm thought sounded like regret, before trailing off.

The conflict in her eyes held him rapt. He took a step closer to her, trying to sway the fight in his favour.

His vision was suddenly obscured when Brumby stepped in front of Mac.

Harm had forgotten about him.

However, if the twitch in Brumby's jaw was anything to go by, he'd read into their silent conversation and wasn't pleased with what he found.

"Look here, you tosser," Brumby threatened, "I don't—"

"Mic," Mac interrupted him, placing a restraining hand on his arm.

Brumby stilled, his jaw set and his fists clenched. He looked back at Mac, and though he was visibly upset, Harm could see he was trying to be gentle when talking to her.

"Sarah, he cannot come in here..."

Her hand tightened on his arm. "Mic," She repeated in slight warning to Brumby's anger. Harm figured she did not want this to degenerate to violence, as it had in Australia.

Brumby stared at Mac for a long moment, and then jerked his hand out of her grasp. With a sickening lurch, Harm realized what the other man was about to do.

"Fine, Sarah." Mic ground out, "I'm done trying." He marched across the living room, towards the kitchen.

"Mic, wait." She called urgently after him. "What are you doing?"

She stood, rooted in place, as he walked away from her. Harm was unable to move as he watched the tableau he'd created play out.

"Packing my things." Brumby threw over his shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen, his decisive, stubborn stride not abating.

She stared at the kitchen doorway, a look of complete shock on her face, and of desperate hurt in her eyes.

Harm felt absolutely helpless. He shouldn't have come here. He should've kept his mouth shut. He should've talked to her when Mic wasn't home. He should've thought his plan through.

Mic re-emerged from the kitchen carrying a large black garbage bag. Mac took an involuntary step towards him.

"Wait." Mac reached out a hand to grab his arm, halting him as he reached the bedroom door. "What? Mic, you're overreacting. I ... you ..." She trailed off, a look of such pleading in her eyes, it was unlike anything Harm had ever seen. And he knew for a fact he never wanted her to have any reason to look at another person that way again.

Mic again jerked away from her.

Harm felt like he was intruding in a private moment. He watched as Mac followed Mic into the bedroom.

He wondered how Brumby could continue in his resolve to leave after receiving that look from her. He didn't think – no, he knew – he knew that he wouldn't have been able to walk away from her if she pleaded with him to stay the way she was pleading with Brumby.

He shouldn't have come, he thought as they disappeared into the bedroom. The door was open, so he could hear them as they moved around, could hear what they were saying.

"Why are you doing this?" The desperation in her voice moved Harm's feet towards her. He had a clear view now, of the two of them in her room. Brumby was stuffing clothes from the closet and drawers into the garbage bag, while Mac just watched, her panic steadily increasing.

Brumby didn't answer, instead kept stuffing his belongings into the black bag.

"Mic! Listen to me! You, but..." She was struggling to find something to say. Harm almost didn't want to hear this conversation.

"Mic..." She trailed off miserably, and Harm couldn't look away as she tried to keep the tears from falling. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, as though the pressure could keep her heart from falling apart. "Please..."

With that word, Mic stilled in his almost manic movements. He straightened himself slowly and turned to face her.

"At least listen to me," She was as near begging as he'd ever heard her. He could hear the embarrassment it caused her to ask this of Brumby in such a way.

Brumby gave a half-hearted smile, his hurt evident, his anger barely contained. "I think that's the whole problem. I haven't been listening. It's not me you give your heart to."

His eyes caressed her face, and he just stared at her with a look Harm couldn't begin to describe. He'd never seen Brumby so ... He truly and completely loved Mac, Harm realized, in the irrational, spontaneous, all-in kind of way. It made his stomach turn that someone was looking at her like that.

"I've stopped trying to stop you, Sarah." He whispered so softly, Harm had to strain to hear him.

He watched as Brumby tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. He watched as Mac looked Brumby in the eye, full of questions and silent pleas. And he watched as Brumby's expression changed to one of reluctant resolve. Mic dropped his hand away from her, quickly picked up the black garbage filled with his belongings, flung it over his shoulder, and walked out of the bedroom, and into the living room.

Harm, unmoving, followed Brumby's steady march, garbage bag flung over his shoulder, to the front door where he paused only to throw some shoes and a jacket into his plastic bag.

Mac came out of her room a moment later, defeat making her steps slow and heavy. She stopped a few paces away from Brumby and watched him as he tied the garbage bag, her arms hanging listlessly by her side. She looked so small, so vulnerable.

Brumby gave Mac one last, longing look and then left the apartment without so much as a glance in Harm's direction. She took a step towards her front door, but stopped herself, lost.

Harm wished that Brumby had at least tried to punch him. It would make things seem less ... incomplete, unfinished.

Mac stared at the door for a long time with her shoulders slumped. The resigned disappointment in her posture cut through Harm. He thought maybe he ought to apologize. Except he wasn't really feeling sorry, not about Brumby leaving. He did feel bad that she looked so hurt. Hopefully she wouldn't turn around and yell at him for what had just transpired. Maybe he deserved it just a little. He supposed there were more tactful ways to go about doing what he'd just done.

He didn't quite know what to do with himself. He figured it might be best if Mac forgot he was here for awhile, so he took a seat on her couch and tried to breathe as quietly as possible.

Only moments later, he heard her deep sigh, and watched as she turned around. He braced himself for whatever may come.

She gave him a long look once she was facing him. He couldn't read her expression. He didn't think she knew what exactly she was feeling at this moment either. Deliberately, she broke eye contact, walked towards the couch, and sank down next to him. The cushions gave way with a deep sigh.

She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands.

"Mac?" He felt terrible. He lifted his hand to her shoulder, but then reconsidered. Helplessly, his hand fell to his side. He hadn't exactly anticipated that she'd be so broken up about it. She cared for Mic, he knew, but he didn't for a minute think she loved him. Not in the way Brumby loved her, and not in the way he was starting to admit he loved her. Not in the truly, madly, deeply kind of way that had men giving up their commission or speeding through the night to state intentions without first formulating a plan, or at least rehearsing a speech.

He watched as she slowly drew in a deep breath, held it, and then released it.

"Hey," He said, not knowing how to comfort her.

She turned to look at him, and he was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

"Hey, it'll work out," He almost added 'for the better', but thought she'd deck him. As it was he was surprised she hadn't yelled at him for Mic's departure. "You'll see."

She took another deep breath, and leaned back on the couch. She looked down at her left hand, where her engagement ring glinted mutely.

She wasn't saying anything. Her silence was increasing his awkward discomfort, and his guilt.

"You wear your ring to sleep?" The question slipped out without his permission.

She looked at him, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. Her eyes flitted away from him, a distinct gesture of discomfort, and then settled on the ring. She considered it thoughtfully.

She pulled the ring off and held it between her fingers, tilting it so that it caught the light.

"Think he'll want it back?" Harm tried not to wince at the words that were coming out of his mouth. Her silence was making it hard for him to say the right thing. He had no idea what she was feeling.

She shook her head. "No." She looked towards her front door, then back at the ring in her hands. "He won't."

She closed her hand around the ring, holding it in a firm grip, then opened her hand again. The ring lay lifeless in her palm. She sighed.

He tried to think of something to say, something to do. He didn't know if she even wanted him around. There was just one thing he needed to know, one thing he needed to hear from her...

"Do you love him?"

She sat absolutely still, staring at the ring.

"I ... I don't think I know what that means..." She trailed off, and shrugged one shoulder. "He made me laugh. He made me feel loved." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He made me happy."

She hadn't answered his question, although he hadn't expected her to say as much as she had. The shock was still setting in, he surmised. He should probably give her space, because shock would surely give way to anger. But he needed to hear her confirm it. Something deep and desperate propelled him to push.

"There's more to happiness than being loved. It has to be a two-way thing, Mac."

"I care for him." She answered slowly. "A lot."

They sat in a silence he was afraid to break.

"You know," She spoke first, her voice subdued and hollow. "I thought for once, just this once, I could be loved. I could be happy. I could..." She stopped, and swallowed heavily. She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes briskly. "So much for that." She scoffed. "He wouldn't even hear what I had to say."

Harm glanced to the door. Brumby hadn't listened at all, which just confirmed Harm's assessment of his personality – he would only have hurt Mac. He turned his attention back at her. She looked so alone, even though he was sitting right next to her.

"Mac." He covered her hands with his. She had someone who would always love her, she had to know that. Why else would he have come here tonight? "Mac, you have—"

The shrill ring of his cell phone interrupted a confession that had been simmering for so long.

Harm closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. So close, damn it. So close.

"Who the hell..." He muttered, irritated, as he reached into his pocket for his phone. Who was calling him so damn late? He looked at the caller display. "Renée."

He'd forgotten about her.

He glanced at Mac, eyes wide with guilt. But she was still staring at the ring in her palm.

"I have to..." He saw resignation shutter her eyes, and tried to rephrase. "I should ..."

He trailed off helplessly as Mac slowly stood up from the couch and walked to her room, silence steadily mortaring a wall to separate her from him. The door clicked shut behind her, echoing in the room, until his phone rang again.

Harm shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Damn it.

He flipped open his phone.

"Renée." He greeted, and then forced himself to sound more genial. "Hey."

"Yes, hi." She replied with a slight impatience in her tone. "I came to your apartment right after the shoot ended. Did you get sent out on another case? Are you back to not calling me to tell me that you're going out on assignment? I thought I'd broken you of that habit."

Harm closed his eyes again. This was not what he needed right now. He wondered not for the first time what Renée's definition of a healthy relationship was, and why she was sticking around. He wasn't the most attentive, he could admit, or involved for that matter.

"Renée —"

"No, wait. You're right. I'm sorry." She interrupted, sounding bone-tired. "The shoot just went on for ages and we're so behind schedule the budget is starting to swell like a pregnant woman's ankles. But I shouldn't take it out on you. I'm just so tired and stressed. I was looking forward to being with you."

He rubbed his hand over his face, feeling like an utter jerk.

"Renée."

"Keep saying my name like that, flyboy." She flirted. "Sounds good on you."

The suggestiveness in her voice was unmistakable. Well, that could be one reason she hung on for so long.

Harm looked at Mac's bedroom door. He didn't want to leave her right now. Actually, he didn't want her to leave him forever. But he had to straighten things out with Renee. From the sounds of it though, this was probably the last thing Renee wanted to hear. He'd effectively and completely hurt two women, and one guy tonight.

"I'll just be over, Renée. You can let yourself in; you know where the spare key is."

"You're in town?" She asked, ignoring the rest of his statement. "Working late at JAG?"

"I'm at Mac's..." He trailed off guiltily. He probably shouldn't have said that.

"You're telling me you're working on a case at this hour, at Mac's? Her fiancé must be a really understanding guy." There was no suspicion in her tone, only wonder at Mic's supposed acceptance.

"Uh, about that..." He stopped himself. "We'll talk about it when I get there, alright? Give me a half hour."

"Don't take too long, Flyboy. And don't worry; I already let myself in. If you hurry, you could probably catch me in the shower."

"Half an hour," He repeated, refusing to address the rest of her statement. He flipped his phone shut and stared at Mac's closed bedroom door.

He took a deep breath, and walked to her door. Then he stared at it, not knowing what to do.

"Mac?" He opened her bedroom door slowly, but saw no sign of her. The bathroom light was on, though. He mustered his nerve and walked up to the bathroom door. He was about to knock when the door opened and Mac walked out. She looked up, startled.

He took a step back, looking first at his feet and then at her.

She was eyeing him warily. Her eyes were red, as was the tip of her nose. He wanted to wrap her in a hug.

"I, uh, have to go. Renee is waiting." He knew that came out wrong. Mac's face fell, and tears welled in her eyes.

"No," He tried to pre-empt any more hurt. "I mean, I have to talk to her ... tell her in person." She was watching him with such an expression of disappointment and hurt, he felt compelled to fill the silence with his stupid ramblings. "I've been seeing her for what, a year? She deserves better than ... I have to talk with her..." He trailed off at the sudden anger that flashed in her eyes.

"You have to break it to her gently," Her voice trembled with the weight of tears she wasn't shedding. She took a breath and her entire demeanour hardened. Her words cut through the space between them, sharp and unforgiving. "She deserves better than having her heart ripped out and her world turned upside down unexpectedly, in the middle of the night. She should have it broken to her gently, with you in control." She jabbed an accusing finger at him.

He took a step back, realizing where this was going. He tried to defend himself and dispel her anger.

"Mac, I didn't—"

"Go." It was one quietly spoken word, but it hurt more than any number of curses would have. It sounded so final.

"Wait, Mac—" He wanted desperately to salvage what he could, even though he'd known that her anger was coming.

"I said go, Harm." She turned around and he watched as she dug through her closet. She threw a pair of jeans and a sweater on to the bed.

"What are you doing?" He felt panic swelling in the pit of his stomach.

"I have to find Mic." She removed her robe to reveal a slip, not caring that he was there, and thrust the sweater on.

"What?" Panic filled his lungs, invaded his chest.

"I want a choice, dammit." She stuffed on leg into her pants, and then the other, her movements jerky.

"What are you talking about?" He didn't know how to stop her.

"You get to go break Renée's heart on your terms, and break Mic's and break mine." She pulled a coat out of her closet, and struggled to put it on, her movements now erratic. "All on your terms. If Mic's going to leave me, it's not going to be because someone else drove him away..." She stopped suddenly, and deflated in front of him, silent tears now falling freely. "He left me, Harm. I didn't even ... And he'd promised..."

"Mac." He hastened to her side and pulled her into his arms. "Come on, now, Mac." He tried to comfort her.

"Everybody leaves..."

"Not everyone, Mac." His words were strong and confident, a promise in kind.

She pulled away from him, accusation clear in her eyes. "Go to your girlfriend, Harm."

His heart constricted. Why wasn't she understanding? Why couldn't she see?

"Forget about her, she can wait." He reached a hand out to her. She moved away from him.

"Just go." She turned her back to him. "I can't do this."

"Mac." Panic was tempered with realization. He wouldn't be able to get through to Mac tonight. She wouldn't let him.

"Go, Harm. She's waiting."

He knew she wouldn't let him stay, wouldn't listen to him. Reluctantly, he backed out of her room, keeping his eyes on her. She didn't look at him.

"I'm going to tell Renée why I can't see her anymore," He made sure to speak clearly, make his conviction evident to her. "And then I'll see you tomorrow, Mac." He finished as he reached the door. "We'll talk about this."

She didn't respond.

--

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: This part has the bits I felt I couldn't get right, so just remember that you got your fair warning in the AN to the first part of the story. I do hope you find something to enjoy in here (besides the stanza from Neruda which, let's be frank, it's impossible not to enjoy).

--

**Truths 2/2**

**Don't Go Far Off**  
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because -  
because - I don't know how to say it: a day is long  
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station  
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.  
- Pablo Neruda, translated by Stephen Tapscott

--

Harm sat on his couch, head tilted back, and stared at the ceiling. Things were really, royally messed up. Mac's behaviour was worrying not only him, but their coworkers, too. She'd basically avoided him since Thursday night – over a week ago now – except for where work was concerned, in which case she was either short with him or distant. She'd barely acknowledged him when he'd told her about his break-up with Renée. And she'd spent the entire week either in her office or, if obligated to be there, in court. She hadn't been speaking to much of anyone. 

Instead she stalked through the office wounded and hurt and abrupt – though never quite rude – with everyone, including Harriet. That in itself was worrying.

And then the admiral had summoned him yesterday, expressly to ask him what had happened that caused Mac to act as she was acting, why her ring was missing from her finger, and why she was ignoring phone calls from her fiancé.

That last bit had been a revelation.

Apparently, Brumby had been calling Mac at least twice a day all week, but she'd given express instructions that any calls from the Australian were not to be put through.

Harm hadn't known how to answer the admiral. He was pretty sure the truth would not have gone over too well: Actually, Sir, that may have something to do with me. You see, I barged into her apartment late last Thursday night to tell Mac she couldn't marry Brumby because I love her. And I want to spend the rest of my life with her – at some point, though not quite yet, I don't think. But regardless, I can't spend forever with her later if she marries Brumby now.

He could imagine the admiral's reaction to that bit of news.

Although, when he thought it out, it did seem rather ... well, poorly thought out.

But she would have been miserable married to Brumby.

Noted, she looked miserable now, but that was only temporary. He was sure they could figure things out if they just talked about it. Once she let him talk to her, once she listened to him, and they agreed to take things slow and easy, and avoid picket fences for a while yet, then everything would right itself.

And if she had married Brumby he would've been miserable; he would've spent the rest of his life wondering what if. What if he'd told her on the ferry that he loved her? What if he'd married her? Would they have been happy? He wasn't so sure; he didn't think he was ready to be tied down. But then, seeing her wear that ring ... Maybe it was time he, as his mother put it, grew up? What would be so bad about being married, if he was married to Mac? Of being in a committed relationship if it was with Mac? It wasn't as though she'd transform into a controlling, neurotic, demanding harridan just because she was wearing a ring. He was being, again as his mom put it, an idiot.

Grow up, Rabb. He could do it. He could be ready for her, and for what being with her entailed. He could. At the very least, they could figure something out.

There was one significant problem, though: Mac wasn't talking to him. She was ignoring his calls and she hadn't answered her door the three times he'd gone over, even though he knew she was home.

He had to corner her, somewhere where they couldn't be interrupted and she couldn't avoid him...

A sudden, brilliant idea smacked Harm between the eyes. Of course. It was quite simple. It was ingenious. It was risky, admittedly, and it may get him more than a broken nose. Time in the brig, for instance, although he knew Mac would never let that happen to him if she had a say.

Would she?

Harm wondered if maybe he should give his plan some more thought, but immediately dismissed that unfamiliar notion. He'd given her a week's worth of space, and he couldn't help feeling that the longer they waited, the worse things would be. He wasn't going to risk it.

Decision made, Harm headed to his room to prepare.

--

An hour later – and just five minutes short of noon – Harm knocked on her door. After the third knock, it occurred to him that she would ignore his knocks just as she had been doing for over a week.

"Mac!" He yelled loudly, mainly for the neighbours' benefit. "Mac! I have the cream the doctor prescribed you for your rash! Answer the door! C'mon, you don't have to be embarrassed about it!"

No response. He tried again, yelling louder still. "Doctor said if the area starts smelling mouldy, or if you see any fuzzy growths--"

He heard the rush of footsteps from behind her closed door, before it swung open in a wide arch. And there was Mac, glaring at him. If looks could kill.

"Do you have a death wish?" She demanded, not even inviting him in.

"Admiral called." He stated. In the face of her evident displeasure, he dropped whatever humour he'd found in how he'd managed to get a foot in her door. "We're flying out of Dulles in two hours. Get your things. Dress civilian, and bring a warm coat. I'll brief you in the car."

"What? On a Saturday? Why didn't the admiral call me?"

"He's busy fielding calls – the media is all over this one." He shrugged. "Which tends to happen when a high ranking officer is accused of hiring escorts on the government's dime."

"What?" Her eyes widened, her anger with him forgotten for the moment.

"I'll tell you about it in the car. Hurry, or the admiral will have both our sixes."

Just under ten minutes later, Harm started his car as Mac settled herself in the passenger side.

"Do you have the case file?" Mac asked, strapping on her seatbelt. "I'll get a start on it."

"I," He cleared his throat. "I left it in my briefcase, in the trunk. I'll take it out once we're at the airport." He kept his eyes on the road as he said this. She looked at him askance; he was never that careless when it came to work.

He should probably just state the truth now, but he was just a bit afraid of her reaction. He'd tell her once they were on the highway, and she wouldn't be able to do anything drastic in retaliation to his slight fib.

Twenty minutes later, Mac seemed to suddenly notice that something wasn't right.

"Harm." She watched as he merged north on the highway. "This isn't how you get to the airport. You're supposed to go south."

"About that." He swallowed, and put on his best game face. "I'm taking you away."

She turned to face him fully, incredulity written over her features. "What?"

"I'm kidnapping you, if you will." He elaborated with a confidence he didn't feel.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

This time, he'd rehearsed his speech.

"You're avoiding me. You're not talking to me. You're not talking to anyone. Your attitude at work is worrying not only me but everyone you work with. We need to get to the bottom of this. So I am taking us somewhere nice and far and isolated, where you can't avoid me, and we're going to talk this out."

Traffic was slightly heavy on the on-ramp, merging into the highway, so Harm was forced to slow the car down. Mac decided to use this as an opportunity to escape. She pulled the door handle, but it didn't work. She tried to fiddle with the lock, nothing.

"Child safety locks," he gave her a sidelong grin, and once again sped up the car as traffic lightened. "And you cannot jump out of a car on the highway."

"Let me out." She demanded, glaring at him. If looks could kill, he would've died twice today.

"No can do." He stated with increased confidence. "Yell, scream, get mad. I don't care."

She considered him for a moment, debating whether or not he was serious. She must've decided to take him at his word, because she neither yelled nor screamed. But she was mad.

"This isn't right, dammit. Take me home."

He didn't respond.

"You cannot keep me in here." She was in full marine mode. He fondly remembered how she'd threatened to feed a few sailors to crabs some years back.

"Watch me." He countered.

Again, she must've realized just how serious he was, because she huffed, crossed her arms and stared out the window, sullen frown in place.

"I can press charges." She stated, still looking out the window.

"You could. But you'd also be the first to offer to defend me."

"I wouldn't bet early parole on that." She muttered.

After that delightfully sarcastic comment – he thought if she could be sarcastic then she was really okay – Mac didn't say anything for the next hour. Well, she did proclaim that she needed to go to the washroom about forty-five minutes into the drive. As though he'd fall for that one. So he'd offered her an empty bottle and a knowing smile. She'd smacked him with the proffered bottle, and returned to staring sullenly out the window.

Her silence, however, didn't keep Harm from trying to draw her out by pointing out the landmarks they passed during the over three hour long drive.

"That there," he pointed to the exit for a small town, "Is home to the world's largest milk canister. It's a self-proclaimed title, though, so I don't know if it's completely accurate. Although I doubt anyone could lie about such an honour."

She showed no signs of thawing.

"And in about 45 minutes, we're going to pass this incredible farmer's market. They have the best fresh berry tart I think I've ever tasted." He glanced at her, but she was still staring out the window, seemingly ignoring him.

"If you ask nicely, I can stop and pick us some up..." He offered. The muscle in her jaw tightened, and she frowned harshly at the passing scenery.

"...Or we could just skip dessert tonight." He finished with a sigh. She wasn't going to make this easy.

Two and a half hours into the drive, he tried to broach the topic that was the reason for their trip.

"We're going to talk, Mac."

She didn't respond.

"You can't keep quite all weekend. I read a study that found women talk three times more than men. There's no way you'll make it."

She rolled her eyes.

"Mac," He decided to try the serious approach. "Mac, you can't go on as you have all week. What are you feeling? Talk to your friends."

She turned her glare on him.

"Friend?" She scoffed. "What kind of a friend does what you did?"

At least she was talking.

"I was looking out for you, Mac. Brumby—"

"I don't want to hear his name." She spat out, and turned back to stare out the window.

"Okay." Harm replied carefully. He'd have to walk on eggshells. He rephrased.

"He would have ended up hurting you, Mac."

She snorted at that.

"What?" He defended. "Better now than six months into the marriage."

Mac narrowed her eyes at him, and abruptly turned to try the door handle again. She pulled at it ineffectively. "Stupid locks." She mumbled.

"Mac—"

She reached forward quickly and switched on the radio, cranking up the volume to the point where Harm thought his eardrums would burst.

He turned the knob to lower the volume. "Mac—"

She reached forward and cranked up the volume again, even louder than it had been before. Harm sighed and decided to give her some more time to herself.

Satisfied, Mac leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, and stared out her window.

Under an hour to go until they got there, Harm thought. Hopefully he wouldn't be deaf by that time.

Forty-five minutes later, he entered the long lane that led to his grandmother's house, located on the edge of the Rabb property. It was a farm that the family owned and had traditionally lived on, but the farm itself was now run by an accredited manager.

He glanced at Mac, and saw her taking in the gorgeous winter scenery.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" He ventured.

She didn't answer.

"This is the Rabb farm. My grandmother lives here on the property." He explained.

Mac turned to look at him, eyes suddenly wide with mild panic.

"Don't worry," He grinned. "She's in Florida staying with her sister – the winters get less and less appealing with age, she says."

Mac seemed to relax at that. Harm pulled into the driveway.

"You can change into something more comfortable." He offered. "I'll make us dinner." Then we can talk, he added silently.

"Well, I didn't exactly bring much besides my uniform." She informed him, her sarcastic shield firmly in place. "I thought we were going on assignment."

"Fine." He was losing his patience with the complete lack of response he was getting from her, and it showed in his tone. This was a special place to him, after all, and he'd expected a different reaction out of her. He parked the car, but kept the engine running. "I'll buy you clothes. Let's go find a store."

"Don't tell me what to do." She shot back angrily.

He stared at her, and took a deep breath. "Mac, may I please buy you some clothes."

"No!" She turned on him. "First you abduct me under false pretences, and now you're going to buy me clothes! Let's not forget you chasing away Mi—" She stopped herself before Brumby's name slipped. "Him. Chasing him away." She regrouped, guns blazing. "You are not my pimp!"

"Christ, Mac!" He exclaimed, appalled. Taking a calming breath, he forced himself to power down, and said in a more subdued tone. "How long do you think it takes for Stockholm syndrome to start setting in? I could really use your cooperation here."

She stared at him, her mouth open in shock. And then, to his utter surprise, she laughed.

"You are such a moron, Rabb."

He grinned, relieved at this startling yet wholly welcome turn.

"Hey," He shrugged easily. "I've been called worse."

"Put away that smile." She ordered immediately. Her laughter vanished. "I'm still pissed off."

He swallowed his smile, and nodded.

"You can look in the closet in my old room for some sweats." He tried for a peace offering as he turned off the engine. "I think some of the clothes I kept here when I was a teenager are still around. I'll make us dinner."

She stared at him, obviously debating whether to listen or continue being stubborn. To Harm's relief, she decided to comply for once. She opened her door and headed towards the house. It wasn't lost on Harm that she expected him to bring her luggage in. Small price to pay. He watched her go, silently thrilled that she'd be wearing clothes he'd owned before he'd even met her.

--

Once he'd brought their bags in and shown her to the guest room she'd be staying in, Harm had left her to herself in the hopes that the crisp country air would make her feel the same introspection that always embraced him when he came to the Rabb farm. He'd of course hidden the car keys.

He busied himself making them some dinner, cooking through his own anxiousness and worry, praying this all worked out.

Once dinner was ready, he went in search of her. He found her sitting on the porch swing, wrapped in her coat and scarf and a thick quilt she'd found in the living room. She was watching the sun set, lost in thought.

He took a seat next to her, stepping into the intimacy of the moment and making himself a part of it. In silence, he watched with her as the sky went from milky white to rosy pink, and the indigo dark of night slowly seeped into the end of day.

When evening clung between night and day, explosive in its palette yet indecisive in its intent, he found the courage to speak.

"Why'd you let him go?" He looked at her from the corner of his eye.

She didn't acknowledge him, but he knew from the way she went absolutely still that she'd heard him.

"You have to talk about this." He insisted, searching for some solid ground. She was slipping away from him, he knew, and the feeling filled him with a desperation he was unaccustomed to.

"No, I don't." She replied stubbornly, her tone clipped.

He refused to let this go. She had to deal with this, before it grew and morphed into something bigger than her. And they had to talk. She had to talk to him.

"Mac, what are you feeling?"

"Pressured." She shifted suddenly, as though to stand up, but remained seated. He could feel her restlessness through the cold air and thick layers of fabric she'd wrapped around her frame.

He tried again.

"Listen, what happened with Mic—"

"I said I don't want to hear his name!" She yelled, jumping off the swing and towering above him. Her mulish silence was no match for the deep-felt anger she was harbouring. She glared at him for a moment, and then looked away, her demeanour softening.

"Why don't you want to hear his name?" He clasped his hands over his knees to keep from pulling her back down to sit on the swing. He couldn't see her face in the rapidly diminishing light, and with her standing up, he couldn't feel her presence as well as he could when she was seated next to him.

She stared at the incrementally setting sun. He thought she'd revert back to silence. Instead, she sat down heavily next to him.

"Because I'm mad as hell at him." She sank deep into her seat, the blanket almost swathing her completely.

He could hear her hurt and the fury she was trying so hard to control.

Now, they were getting somewhere. Although Harm thought her anger would have been directed at him, not Brumby.

"He's been leaving messages for you at JAG." He began slowly, speaking as delicately as he knew how. "At least two a day. You haven't returned any. Did you go after him that night?"

She looked like she wasn't going to answer him. Finally, she nodded reluctantly.

"Have you ever had your world turned upside down?" She asked, and immediately interrupted before he could think to answer. "No, don't answer that. I'm sure we've both had more than our fair share of that."

Silence again shrouded them, and he thought he wouldn't get any more out of her. He was about to suggest they head in for dinner, when she started speaking, her tone dark and empty as the impending night.

"I knew which hotel he'd stay at, same one he stayed at when he first came. I sat in the car outside for an hour and I did some serious thinking." She paused, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "And I realized something. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that no matter how hard you try to give a reason to stay, someone who wants to leave will always find a way."

He studied her carefully. There was something about the look in her eyes. It reminded him of the conversation they'd had when she'd returned from her father's funeral. Life's lessons hard learned. He thought that maybe he admired her more now than he ever had before.

"But he called you." Harm ventured, trying to draw her out further. "He moved here for you."

"I know. I don't know why." She shrugged, her eyes roaming the grooves on the deck. "You know, he said he'd leave too, right before the ring switched hands, said he'd go back because he didn't think I was serious." She tucked her chin into the blanket, and then lifted it up again to look at the setting sun. "Harm, I don't want to be in a relationship where I'm always afraid of being left. I want to be someone who deserves better."

It might have been the most honest confession he'd ever elicited out of her.

"You already are, Sarah." He was brave enough to put his arm around her shoulder.

She didn't lean into his touch, but she didn't pull away either.

"Sometimes, I'm not so sure."

"I know." He tightened his arm around her, shifting slightly to sit closer, and covered her hands with his. "But you are." There was a silent promise behind his words, and he sensed she understood what he was trying to say.

She pulled away to look at him, her dark eyes studying him carefully. She didn't believe him, but he could see that she wanted to.

He couldn't ask for her trust, he knew, not yet. But he was a man of his word.

She turned again to watch the last rays of the sun fade into twilight. Her silence left his words hanging awkward and unfulfilled, like the dusk they'd just witnessed succumb to sleep. He clasped his hands together, not brave enough to try touching her again.

"Why now?" She finally asked. Harm saw the first, solitary star twinkle in the expanse of night.

"What?" He asked, more to buy time than anything.

"Why now?" She repeated. "Why are you..." She waived a hand as though to illustrate her point. "Why now?"

"I didn't expect you to take the ring." His answer was immediate and laden with exasperation. He did his best to remain level-headed, but just the thought of her wearing Brumby's ring, of actually accepting the damn thing... "Christ, Mac. Let alone put it on your left hand!" He stood up to pace, now too restless to sit.

"What did you expect me to do?" She looked up at him, frowning in confusion.

"What do you mean?" Again, he was buying time. In the dimness of a newly born night, he couldn't see her face, only the outline of her form on the swing.

"You said you didn't expect me to take the ring. What did you expect?"

"I don't know, Mac." He dropped his gaze to his feet for a moment, before looking up at her and forcing honesty. "I expected you to wait."

She scoffed lightly, shook her head in an impatient gesture. "For how long?" She challenged.

"As long as it takes." He stated quietly, looking her in the eye.

She stared at him. He could tell she didn't like his answer.

"As long as it takes for what?" She ground out, and stood up to face him, hands on her hips. He could see her more clearly now, as she stood in front of him. Her control was hanging by a thin thread. "As long as it takes for you to decide you're done playing the field and that you might as well settle down with safe, good old Mac?"

"That is not fair," His protest was immediate. "You know I never settle, let alone for the safe choice, in anything."

"Could've fooled me," She crossed her arms and looked away again. He was losing her, he knew, and her attitude was angering him.

"Stop underselling yourself." His tone was harsher than he'd intended it to be. He took a calming breath. "You're anything but a safe choice. And no man could ever think of you as 'good old Mac'."

That earned him a glare, rather than the expected reprieve.

"This is going nowhere," She threw her hands in the air and turned away to re-enter the house. "I'm going in. Good night."

"Stop, Mac." He ordered. "We're not done."

She ignored him, and pushed the door open, poised to re-enter.

"Damnit." He called after her. "What are you afraid of?"

She stilled at his words, her back still turned to him. He could see the tension in the ramrod straight line of her shoulders. It made his anger disappear, replaced by concern. It was all he could do not to comfort her.

"What are you afraid of, Sarah."

She took a deep breath, and turned her head slightly over her shoulder, though she wasn't looking at him.

"Don't make this about me. I don't think you know what you want, Harm." She stopped, and then turned to face him fully. Her voice was now determined, her anger back. "Actually, I think you do. You're just afraid to admit it." She backed a step away from in, into the house. "You said I deserve better, remember? I will not let you hurt me later, just because you're afraid now."

He was too taken aback by her accusation to react.

"Take me home. First thing tomorrow." She demanded firmly.

"Mac—"

"Goodnight, Harm." She turned abruptly and re-entered the house, shutting the door behind her.

Harm watched her leave. He couldn't help but notice how graceful her movements were, even through her evident resentment towards him.

He sighed and turned to stare at the horizon, where the sun had been casting its diluted hues just minutes ago. Fine, he'd take her home. If nothing else, at least she'd opened up about Brumby leaving, and was now on her way to dealing with it.

Was she really afraid he'd hurt her? No, wait. He knew that wasn't really a fair question. Of course she was. He still remembered the hurt he'd seen in her eyes on the ferry, the hurt she'd tried valiantly to hide.

Harm gave on last, long look towards the horizon and then followed Mac into the house. It was much too early for her to call it a night. He hoped she was willing to at least eat the dinner he'd prepared, the dinner he'd poured all his nerves and misgivings into. Well, even if she refused to eat, for his part he was done thinking and worrying for tonight. He just wanted to eat the vegetable pot pie he'd made in his grandmother's kitchen, using her old pots and pans, smoothed and burnished by years of memories and good times.

--

The next morning, they climbed into the SUV, and Harm set a course for home. The quiet white of the countryside in winter passed them by, and soft music played on the radio. They'd been driving for an hour when Harm realized that Mac flipped stations every time a sad love song played. He'd never before realized just how many sad love songs were out there.

So, ensconced in the overly cheery tunes emanating from the radio, Mac's stony silence – which she'd maintained since their talk on the deck–, and the steady blasts of heat from the air vents, Harm mulled over what had happened last night. He didn't exactly get what he'd wanted from the weekend – although he wasn't quite sure how to want what he wanted, let alone go about getting it – but he was convinced that Mac would at least revert to some semblance of her former self at work. He suspected, though with less confidence, that he'd be able to reclaim some of her former regard for him too, and eventually she'd be willing to spend time with him outside of work. Once she got over the anger she was trying hard not to punch him in the face with. He was being realistic: he knew that it would take quite a lot time, especially if Mac's refusal to eat dinner with him once they were back in DC was any indication. He'd offered over breakfast, before they'd left.

"Want to grab a pizza or some take-out when we get in?" He'd asked.

"I don't think I can sit across the table from you just yet, without wishing you'd choke on your fork." She'd replied.

Fair enough. After all, he had sort of broken her engagement with another man – even if Brumby was just plain wrong for her and she didn't really love him, in fact Harm was sure she'd be thanking him for it at some point. And also, he'd kidnapped her. Harm figured she had a right to refuse him dinner.

One fact, though, was definite: Mac had given him a hell of a lot to think about. Namely, how to go about wanting what he wanted. And then convincing her of it...

It also galled Harm that she'd basically called him a coward last night.

He was no coward: he faced his fears.

Besides which, he wasn't afraid.

Well, maybe just a little terrified.

But he wasn't a coward.

Wait. Then why was he letting Mac back away from him? He knew she was always wary of anyone – any man specifically – who paid attention to her. Yet she'd been the one to broach the topic with him on the ferry, she'd been the one to take that first step. But now she was taking his efforts at trying to talk to her, and throwing them in his face. What had she said? That he would only end up hurting her later, because he was afraid now.

And now they were on their way home, and he wouldn't get another chance like this to talk to her. What if he wasn't able to fix this? He didn't think he could bear working with her, seeing her every day, and yet have to live with the distance she would surely put between them when they got back, the distance she'd need to regroup. And if he couldn't bridge it? In his experience, in those few instances when Mac felt hurt deeply, she was slow to forgive. If this festered, he may never get what he wanted even if he didn't quite know how to want it just yet.

He couldn't do it.

Harm swerved the car off the highway. With gravel flying beneath the SUV's wheels, he brought the car to a sudden stop on the shoulder.

Mac sat up straight, one hand on the dashboard to brace herself. Before she could utter a word, Harm activated the child locks. It occurred to him that he should've just locked her in his car all weekend. Then she wouldn't even have had doors to take refuge behind.

"Wait." He stated firmly. "This conversation is not over." He turned in his seat so that he faced her.

"Look, Mac." He switched off the radio, silencing yet another annoying tune that sounded vaguely familiar in that way shared by all stupidly cheery songs.

"Look." He began, unable to look at her, but determined to see this through. "When you, ah, asked me that ... question on the ferry," This was not going as smoothly as planned. He persevered. "When you asked, I panic—I mean, I hesitated."

He forced himself to look at her, and in her eyes, he found some strength.

"You mean too much to me, Mac, for me to screw up, and I didn't think I was ready. Seeing that ring on your finger, though, gave me pause to reconsider. I honestly didn't think that you would genuinely say yes to him. For god's sake, Mac," Exasperation crept into his tone. "This is Brumby we're talking about. He isn't even worth the dirt you walk on. I mean, the way his reach exceeds his grasp! It's like, it's like..."

He fumbled, trying to find an analogy that could adequately illustrate just how crazy the idea of her married to Brumby was.

"It's like, like a Ford Pinto gassing up on aviation fuel!" He paused to take a calming breath – he really had gotten worked up, as he tended to do where Bugme was concerned—, and realized that she was watching him intently, and with more than just a little surprise.

He continued.

"What you said last night is already true, Mac. You i_are_/i someone who deserves better. He wasn't right for you. In fact," He pointed his finger at her to underscore his point. "You were the one settling for the 'safe' and wrong choice, Mac."

She looked both offended and upset at his words. He forged ahead quickly.

"And seeing the ring on your finger..." He gave a deprecating laugh. "Have you ever had your heart stop? I hope that's as near as I come to feeling that, Mac. I swear; it was the first time I seriously considered marriage. And it was the first time that I was afraid that I wouldn't get married. That was something else, that feeling. It terrified –" He cut himself off and quickly amended. "I mean, worried me. It worried me."

She stared at him, positively floored. Silence ticked the seconds by.

"And now that the ring's off?" She finally asked, hesitant and distrustful.

"Mac," He searched the meadow outside her window for a way to explain the inevitability of their relationship to her. As far as he saw it, there was only one possible outcome. "You and me, it can only end in marriage—" His eyes whipped to hers, wide with shock. Her expression matched his.

He quickly stuttered an amendment, "At some point! In the future, I mean." He forced himself to take a calming breath. He was screwing this up. He started again. "I just, I just can't let you slip away from me because I'm terrified—I mean hesitant. Because I'm hesitant."

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. This was not coming out right, this wasn't coming out the way he meant to say it.

"Why are you hesitant?" He heard her ask.

He opened his eyes to find her studying him, distrust still darkening her expression.

He took her hand in his, and traced the delicate lines on her palm with his fingers, feeling clumsy as he sometimes did around her.

"Mac, I know you want a family, you want to start on that whole deal with kids and a dog and a white picket fence." He looked up at her. "But I, I can't, not yet."

"Why?"

It was a simple question, but it confused the hell out of him.

"What do you mean?" His defence was instinctive, in the absence of an answer. "Because."

"No," She shook her head, her thoughtful gaze not leaving his confused one. "I mean what's holding you back? I know you, Harm. There has to be something. But you already proved you can fly with the best of them, and you know the truth about your dad. That's closure on two major chapters. What's left?"

His grandmother and mother both continually declared that they knew him better than he knew himself. He thought maybe the same held true of Mac. But he couldn't put it into words, couldn't explain that it was more than unfinished business. Wasn't it? Was it?

"Harm, you told me when my dad was dying that if I didn't resolve things, I couldn't move forward."

"Every time a man tells you you're worth something, you push him away." He repeated the words from so long ago.

She looked down at their clasped hands, her discomfort evident.

"You're worth everything Mac," He said, gentle and sincere.

A warm smile, with just a hint of shyness lingering on its outer edges, graced her features. Something burst in his chest, and he had to catch his breath.

Her eyes flicked up to his. "So are you."

He grinned, and lightly bit his tongue between his teeth. This was it, this feeling. It was what he saw in his parents, what he remembered of them together.

"You know, Harm." She continued, her smile fading once again into hesitancy. "Whatever it was or is you needed to resolve, I would've been there for you."

He couldn't help himself at that, his response was automatic. "You took Brumby's ring."

He tightened his grip on her hand as soon as the words left, not wanting her to pull back, not intending to start a fight. But she didn't react, as he half expected her to.

"I didn't think you wanted me that way," She said instead, and then pointed out. "I still came to Russia for you, even with the ring."

"You did," He acknowledged, nodding in recognition.

She watched him for a moment, as though waiting for him to continue. He returned her look for all he was worth, but he couldn't find the words to say. After a moment, she leaned back against the headrest, and turned to stare out the window, losing herself in some thought. Her hand was still in his, warm and comfortable, but he could feel the distance between them widen. He could her move away even though he was holding her hand, and she couldn't leave the car.

What was holding him back? Or was it just him, throwing the biggest obstacles he could find in their way? Why?

"You know, Harm," She began softly, pulling him from his thought. She was still staring out the window. "I don't have the answers either. I'm as terrified—" She stopped herself and turned to look at him, grinning.

"I mean hesitant," She amended, a teasing twinkle in her eye. "I'm as hesitant as you are. But it's not like we'd go from zero to Mach one at the speed of sound." Her smile faded, replaced by the same breathless intensity she'd worn on the ferry. "And you know what?"

"What?" He stroked his thumb over her knuckles.

"I think that, just like you can't give someone reason to stay if they want to leave, you can't give someone reason to leave if they want to stay."

Hope swelled in the small confines of the car.

"I want to stay," He brought a hand up to trace the slope of her cheek. "I want you to stay," He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip.

"Me too." She whispered, her hand encircling his wrist.

The pads of his fingers explored the familiarity of her features. Her eyes fell shut, and he wondered how time could bear to continue its unending journey without pausing to admire the beauty of this moment.

He leaned forward, over the console between them, to rest his forehead against hers. He could feel her breath on his lips, could smell the warm enticement of her skin.

He nudged his nose against hers, and she lifted her face slightly, eyes still closed. He drank in the sight of her. Then his lips touched hers and all thought fled, chased clear by the marvel of kissing her, soft and warm, the breath of a kiss that ached for more.

"Mac?" He pulled back to rest his forehead against hers, his hands cradling her face.

"Hmm?" Her eyes drifted open to meet his.

"You want to have dinner with me when we get back?" He watched her for a reaction.

"Dinner?" She asked, a slight frown in place. But he could see the smile curling the corner of her lip.

He nodded, just a dip of his chin.

"What kind of dinner?" She pushed. After all, they'd had countless dinners together over the years. All of them platonic, the occasional shoulder rub aside.

He grinned widely.

"The kind where the location's perfect, I start letting go," He paused as recognition lit her eyes, then added. "And you go topless."

Her grin matched his, even as she slapped his arm in light warning. "Jerk."

"I've been called worse," He responded, and they both laughed.

"So?" He brought her attention back to the matter at hand. "You'll have dinner with me?"

She nodded. An impish grin took form on her lips, and sparkled in her eyes. "I'll have dinner with you. But on one condition."

"Name it."

"No hot dogs."

--

The end.


End file.
